


solar retinopathy

by iniquiticity



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Generally Stunted Emotional Growth, M/M, Men at Baffling Odds With Their Feelings, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: it was out of safety that, even in times like these, alex did not look directly at his relationship with his boss. he could hurt himself. (maybe just not plead ignorance to what exactly was between them. but enough with this redundancy.)





	solar retinopathy

**Author's Note:**

> discovered poose's [general dynamics](https://archiveofourown.org/series/413065) series was opened on my phone. these are my resulting feelings.
> 
> as always, i can be reached on tumblr at [iniquiticity](https://iniquiticity.tumblr.com/) or twitter at @[picklesnake](https://twitter.com/picklesnake).

Alex saw George enter the hotel from where he was sitting at the bar. George had an entourage which he kept at careful distance, not his usual collection that Alex knew. George had his hands folded behind his back in his aura of perfect composure. George's mouth was moving although Alex can't hear him through the hotel lobby. His lips twist quick around the words. Irritated. So maybe things aren't going that well. They argued about not letting Alex in on the meeting and then George overruled him. 

It was true that Alex had a presence that tended to change the way people interacted with George. Generally, Alex could talk them into whatever it is that made them withdrawn around him. George had wanted to be safe. George had wanted the complete control of everything he always wanted. Alex knew that, among all the other things he decided against naming, George loathed that Alex could not be controlled. George and Alex knew that George controlled Alex like you did some falconry bird or zoo tiger. 

The entourage, George included, stopped. George was facing away from him now, so Alex ordered himself another G&T and ordered George the bourbon that he likes, neat. Alex left the glass next to him associated with an empty stool and resisted the urge to stare. He glanced once, twice over his shoulder and sees hands shaken and the unfriendly, polite touches on shoulders. It is up for debate which one of them loathes that more.

He watched, half pretending not to watch, as the men and women disperse, through the hotel lobby, some out of the hotel, some to the elevators, some to the restaurant. 

George sat next to him without speaking, picked up the drink ordered for him, and took a sip. George was a man of silences; Alex had learned long before that what you really needed to understand George Washington was to tell one silence from the other. This one felt like August humidity, weighing thick and uncomfortable about George's frame. Something about the silence made George seemed oversized and awkward where Alex knew he was impressive and powerful. 

There were things Alex declined to name there, in the silence. Other things that hovered between them in that moment, with George heavy and intense and Alex watching him, feeling just sharpened by gin, feeling the ease of moving forward. Alex reached out and touched George's leg under the barstool, felt the cord of muscles in his thigh. Stroked his hand along the wide plane of it. He shot George an easy smile from the corner of his mouth. 

George made an acknowledging noise of something, thought it was hard to tell what. George could have been acknowledging some past conversation or this one or the bourbon or the bar or Alex's touch. George kept his thoughts to himself and Alex could never understand it, and yet somehow it was wonderful and impressive and irresistable. 

Alex finished his drink, and the liquor was easy and warm in his body. He gave George's leg a squeeze, and then with the smallest of stumbles that provoked a flinch, stood from his stool. "Well," he said, and took George in, powerful legs and the barrel chest and the ID card for the conference around his neck and strong shoulders and dark eyes, "I better head up." 

At some point they must have had secret words to express what they meant. George didn't even look at him now and something about Alex vibrated, like a low hum. He touched George's shoulder and cleaned the unfriendly touches off his shoulder. George didn't need those. 

He took a shower in the hotel soap and put back on just his boxes. Sometimes George took a while to come up to see him; in the beginning he had been mad about the delay, but nothing was more George than hesitation. It was a reaction to George's feelings about being rash. George would take twice as long to appear deliberate. Alex opened the minibar wine - under his name but it was George's company, nominally, and like anyone would argue with his expense reports, and certainly minibar wine was nothing in comparison to a long-past issue -

He turned on ESPN. Sports highlights. His Yankees had won today, four in a row. He'd been more into baseball before he realized that it was just another way for men to play politics. Listening to the ESPN heads talk about plays and the standings - that was easier. Watching a game was fun. He and George had gone a few times, with vendor tickets. George pretended to like the Nationals for political reasons, but there was too much randomness in most sports for him. George would make Alex watch chess on ESPN3 sometimes. 

The heads droned. He took another swig of minibar wine and closed his eyes -- 

He heard the hotel door click open and opened his eyes. He heard the shower go on. ESPN was still playing; Sportscenter repeats meant that it could have been ten minutes or three hours. No sound, other than the running water going. George didn't sing in the hotel shower. Only in his own house, not even in Alex’s apartment. 

Water dying down. Clothes rustling. George wore an undershirt and his boxers. 

"You're sexy as fuck, you know," he said. George quirked an eyebrow at him again. 

He wondered if George contemplated the unnameables between them. George could be dense in particular ways; maybe he never noticed. Alex had his own need for the distance created by George's quiet. Only in the tiny moments right after waking up and in the throes of a particularly abysmal hangover did he wonder if the silence meant there were no unambles that George felt. 

George glanced around the hotel room and then looked back at him. Sill no words. Still the quiet of blackout curtains. Deserted parking lots. A ghost town that George stood in the middle. 

"We going to fuck or what?" Alex asked. George walked over to him and put his broad hands on Alex's shoulders. Feeling him. George couldn't talk to get through the moats he put around him. He could reach out, though. Boat across there with broad fingers. 

There were unnameables there. George stared at him, brushed eyes up and down his body. George squeezed his shoulders with unmistakable intim--

Oh, he almost named it, there. George squeezed his shoulders and then stepped into his personal space and kissed him. George kissed like ocean swells, rhythmic and intense and memorable and powerful. The ocean was distant and impossible to explore and even when you thought you learned something there was always more to fine, some vast, unplumbable depths. 

George pushed him back onto the hotel bed. He went with it. 

On the bed on his back. George over him, pulling off the white undershirt, on his hands and his knees. "It's amazing when you're on top of me," Alex said. 

"Shh," George said, and then kissed him again. Silences were George's domain, not his. They were from opposite sides of the world in that respect. He could visit, though. Not when he couldn't think - when George would make him stop thinking - but at least when George seemed so heavy, he could pretend. It was good to be accommodating. Not too accommodating - you didn't want to give out any ideas. But there was a lot of space made between them, and it was important to work with that space between them, that was small and large. 

George kissed him again, and then he drew a hand over Alex's bare chest and pinched his nipples. He sat back on his haunches on Alex's legs and touched him skin. It was like a summer storm, humid and deep and threatening and yet it was just rain, and wonderful rain at that, when the alternative was oppressive summer heat. 

George reached down for his boxers. Alex lifted his hips and let George remove them. 

"Well that's not fair," Alex said, and realized afterwards he said he would be quiet. George puffed of gust of air that was almost like a laugh. Alex could feel the storm of a pressure cell around him, up against him. It was like standing next to a balloon, although not so waxy - just the pressure of it, restrained, forced into some shape. 

"Quiet," George said, finally, and put a finger to his lips. Alex snorted his distaste. He had always found little to be worse than the quiet. Something about them that was always opposite, and yet it generated some chemical sense between them, unexplained but in progress. Gravity or magnetism, and they hovered and came together and split apart. 

"No promises," he said, because it was important not to be too accommodating, even if something in his brain hummed submit, submit. It said fight, submit, fight, submit. 

George frowned at him, but it was _his_ frown, not the frown he gave to the shitty other conference attendees. George shifted his shoulders and stretched his neck and Alex laid back against the hotel bed, pulling pillows under his neck to allow him to be a little propped up. George licked his lips and Alex watched the pink flick of his tongue. George bent his head and took him, still mostly soft, into his mouth. George attacked him with his familiar caution mixed with intensity, feeling him out. George had felt him out before, and even so things had to be checked and rechecked. 

Such caution was not Alex's thing. He sucked dick in a much different way, and yet even so watching and feeling George around him, taking him, sucking him - god, it did it for him. It reached out into that space between them and slid between all those unnameables and pulled on them altogether like pulling a woven rug. It touched him in just the right place - dick and otherwise.

That was George, to always be looking at Alex or otherwise like he was all marble and no feelings, all calm confidence and and steely charm. No feelings. Nothing that could be twisted or manipulated against him, nothing that looked out of place. Suit perfectly-cut, feelings put in rows so clean they may have been placed by factory robots. 

Give the man a hotel room and a locked door and a couple of bourbons and allow him a single moment to be alone and Alex could see something peek out from between those rows and robots and stone. He didn't look directly at it, but he felt it like the pressure cell and saw it from the corner of his eye. Knew it was there like an open secret, pretended not not to know he leaned into it. 

George pressed him deep and swallowed and Alex groaned. "Jesus christ," he said, and George's eyes flickered open, made contact with his: disapproval. Alex grinned, wild. Not like this did George tell him what to do. "You know I think you've probably always been a natural at sucking dick, you just didn't know, but I'm ---" Something again with his tongue, a gasp, "--happy to be there for you. Fuck, you're so hot. Fuck." 

George slid away from him with wet slurp. Alex stared, helpless. 

He reached out into the charged air between them without looking at it. He knew he thoughts and the feeling and the words and pretended not to, and all at once he touched the unspoken connection and ignored it. "Fuck me," he said. 

"Mmm," George said, and kicked off his boxers. He rolled off the bed and went into the bathroom to get a condom. Alex watched every inch of him, took in the powerful back and the powerful glutes that formed that gorgeous ass. The man tossed the condom and a packet of lube onto the bed next to it, close enough to reach but far enough that Alex wouldn’t roll onto it. 

Alex began to roll over onto his stomach, but George grabbed his hip. George didn’t pull him one way or another. He was not demanding and intense in the way that he could be. Sometimes he was that way with Alex, and Alex was into it, and George was into it too. Right now, the hand was asking. A request, because at a time like this you requested, and you let the connection and chemistry do the rest. There wasn't any need to be overbearing. 

Alex laid back down on his back. George crawled on top of him, on all force. George watched him, inscrutable. George reached for him and then put his hand back on the bed. Alex suppressed the smile and the relief all at once; if George didn't want to look it in the eye, who could blame him? 

"Good evening," George said, like they were at some fucking restaurant. 

"Enjoying the view?" he asked. 

George didn't quite laugh, but almost. "Absolutely." Then, George bent his head to kiss one nipple and then the other, and then he slid his broad body down Alex's skinny little thing that nonetheless kept an irritating flab, and then he kissed Alex behind his balls and put broad hands against the back of Alex's thighs. 

You might have thought George a man who never ate ass and had no skill at it. You might have thought George found the prep work slow and annoying; maybe you could imagine a characteristic frown of impatience. You could not have been more wrong. Alex always thought that George wanted nothing more than to give up all of his responsibilities and let someone else lead - like if he could retire to a simple pastoral life herding sheep and doing nothing but watching the sun rise and fall and hoeing grain or some shit - and somehow it all made sense as George fucking dug his tongue in there, just gave and gave in this impossibly base way, adding split-slick fingers.

Jesus, he knew how to make a man moan. He didn't just know where Alex's buttons were. He fucking mashed them. He called in the damn Acme 5000 anvil the size of a tanker and just dropped it from a thousand feet up right on every damn button all at once. George never did anything by halves. George thought about what he wanted for a long time, weighed all the pros and cons, made a fancy strategy, and then pursued his target with relentless focus. Sometimes George backed up, but he always did so with the intention to move a little farther forward. 

That was the thing about fucking someone regularly. (Maybe that was the thing about fucking your boss, too, but Alex knew that fucking or no, they were definitely not within the bounds of your typical employee/employer dynamic). Sure you could meet someone at a club and get your ass stuffed and you'd get off and properly degraded in the way that felt good, but no club fuck would do this to him. No club fuck would grip his thighs so he couldn't squirm away and pushed and pushed until he was incoherent. No club fuck had practice like George had practice. 

No club fuck knew when he couldn't take any more and pulled away and wiped his mouth and looked at him like that. No club fuck would tease the head of his cock while he kicked his feet and wailed. No club fuck would know that his favorite way to get fucked was right after he'd come, when everything was impossibly shocky. 

George had practice in stroking him with one hand and opening the condom wrapper in the other. George bent his head and pushed him over the edge with the hot flat of his tongue, stroking him and holding him down so he didn't thrash away. George used his typical efficiency to press him inside him, thick and huge and slick with lube, and it was so much with him still practically twitching at the end of the orgasm, and it was so good. 

Only people who knew how to fuck you fucked you like this. You needed energy with someone to get this kind of lay. You needed to have thoughts and considerations you carefully did not acknowledge to move to this level of mind-blowing sex. You needed to feel okay wrapping your legs around his thighs and digging your fingers into his shoulders. You didn't always, with strangers. Certainly those strangers wouldn't wrap one arm around your shoulders and use the other hand to steady themselves, all flexing biceps and back muscles, pushing into you all slow and rhythmic and making these spectacular shuddering breaths on you and into your neck. 

"Jesus fucking sweet fucking christ," Alex said, his head falling back onto the pillow and into the cradle of George's arm, "Your fucking cock is magic. Fucking shit." 

(The worst would have been if your club fuck was obnoxious when he fucked. George wasn't. George was all of his streamlined focus, just snorting in laughter at Alex's comments.) 

"Fucking hell, I want you to fucking come inside me so bad. Just blow your fucking load right there. Jesus, it feels so good. Jesus fucking christ it feels so good. Jesus fucking christ it feels so fucking good. Tell me it's as good for you as it is for me." 

"It's so good being inside of you," George said, in his shuddery, breathless voice. The perk of being a guy's assistant is you knew what packages he got, and you knew that when he had other partners - and Alex didn't mind one bit about that, it was nice to fuck other people, it gave you variety, it was something they did, and since there was nothing named between them nothing stopped them from other partners - sometimes there were chemical helpters involved. No chemical helpers here, Alex knew. Just every fucking bit of lust you could work up for another human. God, it felt good, George's intensity, his thick cock, the deep thrusts inside him. 

“Fucking love when you’re inside of me.” 

George looked at him, heavy lidded and sweat-slick. A bit too directly, Alex thought. Too easy to see into George like this, past his walls. Alex liked the walls. He held his up a little more responsibly. 

“You gonna blow your load inside me?” 

“Would you like that?” 

“Yeah, I really would.” 

George huffed another laugh. He rolled his hips and Alex felt stars explode all through his body. Alex intended on forming a retort, but George was much too busy blowing his fucking mind (among other things) to let things like witty retorts formulate in Alex’s brain. George pushed inside him and even as he came apart it was everything practiced and meticulous that George was. Oh yes, that was George. At the core there was a firestorm, and layers and layers and layers of control freak and meticulous planner. George studied the battlefield and fucking decimated him. 

His hands found George’s shoulders, felt their steadiness and their strength. He dug his fingers there, clenched his whole body, felt everything insane and impossible and electric. George grunted and dripped sweat on him and pressed, harder and stronger. Oh, Alex loved getting past all those damn layers, seeing the molten core of this human. 

George gasped and shuddered and made inarticulate animal noises. Alex felt the muscles twitching under and inside him, felt that surge. He wanted it, needed it. He needed to keep George inside him and around him forever. He needed to keep George forever. He needed to have all the weird and wonderful things that made up this man stay his, and fuck everyone else. 

With a wince, George hit the bed next to him, still shuddering a little. Alex reached over, twisted and pulled the condom off; George’s hands tended to shake right after he came, and it made the whole thing inconvenient. In his way, George had brought the garbage can over for just this circumstance. 

When Alex rolled back from dumping the condom, George wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. Alex felt trembling fingers in his hair. You’d think it would be gross with your face pressed to sweaty skin, but it wasn’t. You’d think you’d want to get up and shower, but he wanted to stay close. You’d think you’d have better things to do than snuggle, but he found out how much he liked it. 

As a bonus, being pressed up against George made it impossible to look at anything. It would be hard to pretend, fucked out and relaxed and post-orgasm, that he didn’t know what all these things were called.


End file.
